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This sermon
references both the Story and
Reading, please read these first. You will
find them at the end of the sermon.
SERMON
Kicking
off the Religious Education Retreat last Saturday, Jennifer Olson,
one of our Youth Advisors taught us a new game. You pick from a
deck of cards and depending on what you draw, you have to tell a
certain kind of personal story. If you draw a Jack, you have to tell
a story about someone named Jack. If you draw a Clubs, you have to
tell a funny story from your life. As everyone shared a story, I was
reminded of how important stories are in making sense of our
experiences.
Sometimes, we tell the stories.
Other times, the stories tell us.
Such is the story about men.
This story started a long, long time ago, and it has been telling us
a fundamental lie about the nature of the human male. Maybe it was
useful a long, long time ago, or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, the
story no longer serves us, and in fact, it is harming all of us.
Several years ago, I awoke to this story and to my part in keeping
it alive.
When I entered Starr King seminary in 2002, there were only 2
heterosexual, white males in my class of 25. We engaged with the
anti-oppression work that is part of the school’s mission. We talked
about the institutionalized oppression of people of color, gay,
lesbian, transgender people, women, people with disabilities,
children, the poor, the elderly. At first, the women in the class
didn’t notice we were talking about oppression in way that put those
two men squarely in the camp of the oppressor.
We didn’t stop to think how those two men might have felt, being
lumped in with haters, abusers, and killers.
As our male colleagues started to speak up, they tried to explain
how patriarchy is a system that also victimizes men. They tried to
tell their stories of how the cultural demands made on men led them
to deny the fullness of their being. But I’m ashamed to say, the
rest of us dismissed their stories.
Polite conversation turned into a battle about who was more
oppressed than the other. we fought, we cried, we left the room.
As uncomfortable as that experience was, it lead me to a profound
shift in the way I think about and relate to men.
I started to understand how society’s expectations for males hurt
women and men and transgender people, those whose gender identity
lies beyond traditional definitions.
Those difficult classroom encounters led me to wonder about my role
in perpetuating the old story about men.
In that story, the prototypical male follows a script of manhood
that has been handed to him by his father, his community, and even
his mother. The script tells him that physical violence is
superior to any other force, that exercising power over others is
the only way to succeed, and that it is the role of men to wield
that power in their families, workplaces, and churches.
When I read news articles about the poor condition of men in our society:
that suicide rates are 4 times higher for men that males comprise
93% of all the people in prison that men die about a decade earlier
than women, I didn’t realize that the Old Story of Patriarchy might
have something to do with what’s happening to the men. I just shook
my head, and said to myself, well, that’s just the way men are.
Men are naturally aggressive and violent.
Men cannot express themselves emotionally.
Men are inherently more interested in solving problem than nurturing
relationship.
The problem with this and all stereotypes, is that it is a lie. When
we tell false stories about anyone in our community we diminish the
unfolding of that person’s unique capacities, the powers of his or
her soul.
William Ellery Channing, the 19th century Unitarian minister, taught
us that everyone is endowed with capacities for doing good in the
world.
Human beings are therefore inherently worthy and good.
This was a radical notion in Channing’s day, when most of the people
around him were sure that the inherent nature of human beings was
depraved and sinful. But we don’t always do good in the world,
because forces in life inhibit our ability to develop those
capacities.
One of those forces is patriarchy. The patriarchy, or what I’ve
been calling the Old Story about Men, perpetuates an image of
manhood that suppresses capacities in the souls of women and in the
souls of men. The women’s liberation movement revealed how women
suffer under the old story about the superiority of manhood. And now
we are seeing how this story also oppresses men, preventing them
from bringing forth gifts that do not conform to its warped image of
masculinity. This Old Story is the suit of armor that every male
must wear in order to succeed as a real man. Once he puts on the
armor, a man may look fabulous on the outside, as confident and
self-assured as the Master of Kung Fu in his suit of yak leather.
What can’t be seen are the parts of himself he had to cut off in
order to fit into it. Which powers of the soul did he have to
amputate?
The capacity to respond to beauty, to the presence of the holy?
The powers of affection and imagination?
The capacity to nurture and connect?
The powers of intimacy?
In some families, this old story of manhood is the only one boys
hear. Both fathers and mothers tell it over and over again.
There are other families telling very different stories of male
identity-- stories that teach boys to love broadly, and feel deeply.
Our own Joe Fisler grew up in a household where he and his father
read poetry to each other.
And then, there are men who grew up with the Old Story and then
wrote new stories of manhood as adults or even as elders. I’ve met
these men. They talk about their liberation through relationships
with other men, how they opened themselves up during men’s
retreats and in men’s groups.
I believe these experiences are powerful because, for many, it is
the first time they are truly seen as the whole, complex person they
are.
The Dalai Lama was able to see the Master of Kung Fu in this way.
While others saw the costume of a warrior and the trail of broken
bodies, the Dalai Lama saw through the armor, into the human
being. He saw a spiritual being with feelings and longings and a
graceful body that could sense the beauty in all living things. The
Dalai Lama knew that the Master of Kung Fu was able to see only the
ugliness in life, unable to experience true joy, and was literally
trapped, inside the hide of a slaughtered animal.
If the Dalai Lama had not been able to see the true nature of the
Master of Kung Fu, he probably would have thrown the man in jail for
his violent crimes. After all, what use does a society have for such
a person? Instead, the Dalai Lama invited him to the palace as his
honored guest. He showed this man compassion because he could see
his suffering.
Yes, his suffering.
The Master of Kung Fu would have laughed out loud at the idea that
he was suffering. After all, he was the best, the fastest, the
strongest. He had succeeded in defeating everyone who approached
him.
But often in life, we are oblivious to our own suffering. And it
takes another person, someone who sees us as we truly are, someone
who loves us fully, to see that we are hurting.
Men are beginning to turn to each other, and they are speaking to
each other in heartbreaking language.
One UU man asks, “What are we to do about the yearning, the
emptiness, the hunger, the nothingness that huddles close to the
core of human experience? What are we to do with the embarrassing
awareness of the incompleteness of life? We are ashamed of our
hunger” (from New Men; Deep Hungers by Tom Owen-Towle).
All around us are men who are tired of fighting and competing--men
who want intimacy with other men, men who want to face their death
with genuine surrender, men who want to dance with the blossoming of
life.
All around us are men who want to step up and declare themselves to
be the authors of their own lives, not just actors reading from a
worn-out script.
This morning, we heard the voices of ten men who stepped forward to
speak the first words of a new story about men. To finish this new
story, more men and more women will have to speak words of truth and
take risks.
The two men in my seminary class took such risks: the risk of close
engagement, the risk of intimate, difficult conversations.
The elderly Dance Master was willing to take a bold step, risking
his very life to get close enough to the Master of Kung Fu to touch
his brow.
May we be so bold.
May we begin to tell new stories, like this one, from a UU man from
Ohio (adapted from a sermon by Dick Schwertle, West Shore UU Church,
Cleveland, Ohio, 2003).
He is a young man in his 30’s, and he had just discovered that
getting hugged by other men was at first, really uncomfortable, then
not so bad, and finally incredible. To be held in a caring way by
another man, while crying about the hurts he’d endured, was one of
the most liberating experiences he had ever had. A year before his
father’s death, which was very sudden, this man decided to
share his new hugging skill with his father. One day, he walked
into his father’s house, threw his arms around his dad, and gave him
a big hug. His father pulled away, saying “What the hells wrong with
you, are you getting a little light in the loafers? I think you’ve
been in that Unitarian Church too long.” Well, the son wasn’t
surprised, but he wasn’t discouraged either. He stopped over 2 or 3
times a week and continued to practice hugging his father, who acted
disgusted every time. But his mother told him when his father heard
the car in the driveway he would leap up and start for the door
saying, “Here he comes, guess he needs another hug.” The man’s
father never told him he loved him in so many words, he couldn’t. No
man had ever said it to him. But over time the father’s hugs got
longer and softer and occasionally their eyes would meet. Let
us hold in our hearts fathers who long to say I love you to their
children. May they find their own words. Let us seek peace for
those who have been hurt by men. May they find wholeness in the
loving embrace of this community. And let ours be a community where
we can see a multitude of ways to be a man in this world. May we
open our hearts to the abundance of life that is all around us and
available with just one kind touch.
AMEN
STORY FOR ALL AGES: Adapted from “DANCE MASTER”
by Peirre Delattre
Report had
reached the Dalai Lama that a certain MASTER OF KUNG FU was roaming
the Tibetan countryside, converting young men to the study of
violence. The Master of Kung Fu had made his reputation by taking on
8 Lolo warriors with movements so swift he seemed merely to walk
through them. Wherever the Master of Kung Fu stopped, he gathered
followers who were fascinated by his dance of destruction. Against
all Buddhist laws, there had been widespread slaughter of yaks in
order to make the black leather outfits like the one the Master of
Kung Fu wore from neck to ankle. The Dalai Lama responded to this
outbreak of violence by inviting the Master of Kung Fu to the great
Ceremonial Hall as his guest. When the Master of Kung Fu arrived, he
bowed in front of the throne and said, “Your Highness, I know why
you called me here. But I assure you, I mean no harm to you.
You see, ugliness is my only enemy. There is such ugliness
everywhere, and it must be destroyed. I am training a special cadre
of men to help me.”
“And how do you propose to do this?” Asked the Dalai Lama
“Permit me to show you. Please stand in front of me while I
demonstrate my skill.” The Dalai Lama stood up and immediately felt
as if the wind had blown flower petals across his body. He looked
down, but saw nothing. “You may proceed.” “Proceed? I have already
finished. What you felt were my hands flicking across your body.
This was just a demonstration, But with this finger, I could
have broken your arm, and with this knuckle, I could have destroyed
your liver.I could have taken out all our vital organs in that
little movement.”
“I know a master greater than you,” said the Dalai Lama. “Without
wishing to offend your Highness, I doubt that very much. But, Let
him challenge me, and if he bests me, I shall leave Tibet forever.”
“If he bests you, you shall have no need to leave Tibet.”
The Dalai Lama clapped his hands, “Summon the Dance Master!”
In a few minutes, a wiry little fellow arrived.
The Dance Master was well past his prime; his joints swollen with
arthritis; his legs entwined with varicose veins.
The Master of Kung Fu did not mock his opponent.
“My own guru was even smaller and older than you, yet I was unable
to best him until just last year.”
The two men faced off.
The old Dance Master began to swirl very slowly, his robes
flying around his head. His arms stretched out and his hands
fluttered like butterflies toward the eyes of his opponent, and his
fingers landed on the brushy eyebrows.
The Master of Kung Fu drew back in astonishment. He looked around
the great hall. Everything was suddenly vibrant with rich color.
The fingers of the Dance Master stroked the nose of the Master of
Kung Fu and suddenly, he could smell the pungent barley from the
city far below.
The Dance Master continued to touch the body of the Master of Kung
Fu and at every touch, he felt more joy, more life, more beauty.
The Master of Kung Fu tore the leather clothing from his body and
stood naked in the hall. Then he began to dance. It was the most
beautiful dance ever seen in the great ceremonial hall. He danced
for three days and three nights.
Only when he collapsed at the throne of the Dalai Lama did he notice
that another body was next to his. It was the old Dance Master who
had died of exhaustion while performing his final and most marvelous
dance.
The new Dance Master of Tibet took the frail corpse into his arms,
weeping with love, he drew the last of its energy into his body. He
had never felt so strong.
Return to Sermon
READING by 10 different men: Adapted from “The
Men’s Manifesto” in the book, Knights Without Armor
by Aaron Kipnis.
1. Men are
beautiful. We must take care to nurture and protect our bodies.
2. A man's
value is not measured by what he produces. We are not merely our
professions. We need to be loved for who we are.
3. Fathers
are equal to mothers in our ability to raise children. Men deserve
the same rights as women for custody of children. Masculinity is
life-affirming and life-supporting.
4. A man
does not have to live up to any narrow image of manhood. We
are healers, lovers and partners with women and other men. At our
depth we are celebrators of life, ethical and strong.
5. Men do
not need to become more like women in order to reconnect with
our soul. Women can support men's healing by seeking out and
affirming the good in them.
6.
Masculinity does not require the denial of deep feelings. We
start to die when we are afraid to say or act upon what we feel.
7. Men are
not merely competitors. Men are also brothers. It is natural for
us to cooperate and support each other. We find strength
and healing through telling the truth to another-- man to man
8. Men are
not flawed by nature. We become destructive when our masculinity
is damaged. Violence springs from desperation and fear rather than
from authentic manhood.
9. Men and
women can be equal partners. As men learn to treat women
more fairly we also want women to work toward a partnership that
does not require us to become less than who we authentically are.
10. Sometimes
men will be wrong, irresponsible, unpredictable, silly, lonely,
inconsistent, afraid, indecisive, insecure, lazy, old, playful,
irreverent, wild, impractical, unconventional and other things
we're not supposed to be in a culture that circumscribes our lives
with rigid roles.
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